


Into Each Life Some Rain May Fall

by Tintenfischie



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Rawhide (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Cowboys, Gen, Ghouls, M/M, Natural Disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tintenfischie/pseuds/Tintenfischie
Summary: Fresh water is always a welcome in the arid Mojave...except when that water comes from rains heavy enough to cause flash floods.





	Into Each Life Some Rain May Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I pulled together my own hiking/camping experience and lots of research on flash floods...and immediately threw most of it out the window in place of Fallout style radiation ‘science’. It’s more fun that way, enjoy!

The heat of the Mojave is usually dry and hot; exactly the kind of weather you’d expect to find in a desert. But hundreds of years of nuclear interference has made a mess of its weather patterns, even into the 23rd century. That kinda damage is a lot for nature to recover from, and nature ain’t hardly done recovering yet.

Gather every scientist and ranger this side of the Great Divide, ask ‘em to tell when it’ll rain next, and they’ll all reply: that’s impossible. But as the scout for the Gil Favor outfit, and it tends to fall on me to try my hand at weather predictions. Name’s Pete Nolan, and it’s my job to do the impossible.

* * *

The drive was moving along at a decent pace. Their little hold up at the Outpost was brief enough that it hadn’t put a dent in their schedule, and subsequently the mood was generally good amongst the drovers.

Rowdy and Jim rode beside one another, talking above the constant noise of the herd.

“Think we’ll catch up to Cassidy’s caravan at all?”

“Rowdy, think about that for a few seconds. We’re pushin’ hundreds of brahmin and all she’s got is a couple a’ wagons. There ain’t no way we’ll catch up to her.

“Oh, yeah I guess you’re right.” Rowdy paused briefly. “Where do you think she’s headed for, anyway? Think she’s goin’ to Freeside, too?”

Jim gave him a sideways glance. “Rowdy, there’s no way you could handle a woman like that.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Didn’t have to say it, you was thinkin’ it. You ain’t never been interested in caravans ‘til one comes along, happens to be owned by a pretty woman.”

Rowdy did allow a smile at that. “More than just ‘pretty’ and you know it, too.”

Jim lit a smoke, nodding. “That’s no lie. Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Now, there’s a Rose that’s surely got thorns, let me tell you. You wouldn’t survive her.”

“What? And you think _you_ would?”

“I share a bedroll with a ghoul, I can handle a lot more than you think.” Jim smiled as he took another drag from his smoke. Rowdy’s face was scrunched, to which Jim scoffed back. “I didn’t give you no details, no need to look so jealous.”

Jim Quince and Joe Scarlet were as committed to one another as any two humans could be. Even if one of them wasn’t exactly human any more. Joe had long ago, well before joining the drive, been one of the many people throughout the Wasteland who had been exposed to radiation bad enough to cause ghoulification. It was a devastating transformation, but Joe had been one of the lucky ones who managed not to lose his mind in the process, even if his appearance wasn’t so lucky.

The radiation had left him looking like something out of a pre-war horror film, back when such imagery was confined to fiction. But ever since the bombs dropped and nuclear damage flooded the land, it was a real and true threat.

Not that Jim ever seemed to mind how Joe looked, not a single bit. For as much as Quince talked of the gorgeous women they’d meet in towns, it was some kind of true testament to he and Joe’s mutual devotion that they were as close to married as anyone could be.

“Speaking of your ghoul friend.” Rowdy said as Joe rode to catch up. His horse, like himself, was a ghoul, and the only one of its kind on the drive.

“Jim! Rowdy!” Joe called after them. “We’re stoppin’ the herd here, just for a spell. The boss wants us to gather ‘round, some kind of important announcement on the radio.”

“Did Pete get ‘Big Iron’ stuck on a loop again?” Jim asked.

“Even more important, c’mon!” They followed Joe to where everyone gathered around Pete, their attention all turned to the Pip-Boy. He adjusted dials until the radio signal sounded clear.

“They’ve been broadcastin’ a warning every news break.”

“Sounds like ‘Johnny Guitar’ to me.” Jim said.

“The news always comes after the music!” Another drover snapped back.

“We won’t hear a damn thing if y’all keep yammerin’ on.”

“Quiet down!” Favor shouted above the chatter, which instantly silenced. Pete turned up the radio volume as the song ended and the broadcast played. Mr. New Vegas, in his usual, oddly pleasant tone, repeated the news.

 _Meteorologists at HELIOS One are issuing warnings over extreme rains and possible flash floods. Doctor Ignacio Rivas, a Followers of the Apocalypse scientist stationed at the facility, had this to say_ :

“ _It’s clear we can expect ongoing storms, but unfortunately we can’t get more precision on exactly when they’ll happen, or how long they’ll last. Our instruments are picking up signs that indicate heavy storms within the week, possibly within days. The most important thing is that people living in valleys or canyons evacuate to higher ground as soon as possible. Don’t wait until the last minute, because that’s when it will be too late. Everyone needs to consider safety above all else in this situation_.”

 _Thank you, Dr. Rivas. All you listeners, stay safe out there in the Mojave. In the mean time, I’d like to play a very special song_.

As the news story ended and transitioned to The Ink Spots singing ‘Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall’, Pete turned down the volume. Once again, the drive was abuzz with noise, everyone wanting their own word on the matter.

“You heard the radio, we need to get the herd outta these lowlands!”

“What route can we take? How are we supposed to get ‘em up those cliffs?”

“There’s deathclaws all over these parts!”

“How long is this gonna delay the drive?”

“Be more than just ‘delayed’ if we stay here.” Favor’s voice once again rose above the rest. “As for gettin’ these beeves up the cliffs, there’s gotta be a way. Might delay us, but it’s worth it. Those rains come, and we might as well be in a mudslide.”

“Looks like there’s a way up from here.” Pete showed Favor a detail on the Pip-Boy’s map, only a few miles away from their current location. “Doesn’t look like much more than a game path, probably bighorners, but it oughtta be enough for the herd to get by.”

“All this planning, trying to avoid canyons and cliffs, looks like we’ll be forced to travel by both.” Favor said, shaking his head with a laugh, sounding more like resignation than anything else. “We don’t wanna waste any time, so we’d better move the herd that way.”

“Thing is, boss, this map don’t show any way down. Got some lowland paths leading to the cliff, so there’s probably a way down near one of those.” Pete scrolled along the map. “Might be a job for me to look ahead, find the best way up and meet back with the drive somewhere in the middle.”

It was a fairly routine scouting job, save for the threat of the flood. The only part that gave him pause was the idea of Pete getting caught in a flood while they were separated, since his route would take him longer to get to high ground that the rest of the drive’s. Not by much, probably only a few hours at most, but enough to concern him. On the other hand, they were all getting a quick start. The chances they’d all be well above flood level by the end of the day was high.

“Mr. Nolan.” Both Pete and Favor turned to see Mushy standing by Pete, appearing suddenly, as if he’d sneaked up, no doubt unintentionally. “I was wonderin’...”

He paused for quite some time, glancing between Mr. Favor and Pete, fidgeting slightly with his hands. Pete nodded, urging him to go on.

“I was wonderin’, since you’re teaching me about scouting, if I could come with you this time?” His whole body seemed tense as he asked. Pete had indeed agreed to teach Mushy at least the basics of scouting, and it had gradually evolved into more in-depth lessons. Of all the people on the drive, the one who spent most of his life in a Vault was definitely the one most in need of survival lessons.

Usually, it would have been an easy yes, but the circumstances surrounding this particular time gave the two older men pause. Pete checked his map once more, before speaking, first addressing Favor.

“Well, it’s a little more risky than usual, but chances are, we’d reach the path before sundown. If you and Wish give the go-ahead, I say it’s all right.” He looked to Favor, silently asking permission for this, as well.

After a little internal deliberation with himself, Favor nodded. “I’ll talk to Wishbone, you two go on and find that path. I’d better see you both by tomorrow.” Favor left with tiny smile that Pete was fairly sure only he caught.

\---

Pete and Mushy rode past the herd, keeping a pace fast enough to reach their destination on time without tiring their radhorses. At one point, Pete led them to a stop by a little patch of dry scrub surrounding a dead tree.

“We might not meet back up with the herd today, so we’ll wanna get supplies to make our own fire.” Pete explained as he broke off dry branches, bundling them together with some smaller scrub twigs. Mushy followed suit and gathered his own before they resumed riding.

It was only a couple of hours or so into their ride that Pete saw a ring around the sun; a sign of rainfall within the next 24 hours. Usually, this was a good thing, something that, back home, brought joy to farmers and the assurance of water. But now, it took on a whole new meaning. In lands where nature had been so altered on all levels, there was no telling if 24 hours was truly the time span they had.

“Mushy, we’d better start looking for a way up sooner than I thought.”

“What? Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Not yet, but see that ring around the sun? Looks like a sort of halo.” Pete pointed, and as Mushy squinted and nodded, he went on to explain what that meant and why they had to pick up the pace. As they travelled on, both scanned the cliffs for any trace of a viable path. Every now and then, there was a false lead, paths that wound up only ending at the remains of a rockslide or a gecko’s nest.

It was still early in the day and yet the sky already began to darken, the sense of urgency growing as it did. In the back of his mind, Pete worried that the herd wouldn’t be able to make it to their destination before the rain began.

\---

Back at the herd, they had already found the path which, like so many around the land, wasn’t as wide as they would like, but the landscape never conformed to humanity’s whims. It was what they had and what they had to make work.

The drovers had also noticed the skies growing dark with low, grey clouds rapidly coming in. From overcast skies, to storm clouds, to the storm itself happened so fast, it was like watching a holotape sped up.

It was a fight against every single element: time, rain, the beeves themselves. The rain soon hammered down, as if a year’s worth of water was suddenly coming down all at once, making the red dirt turn to slick mud. The desert soil was unused to such rain, so very little of it was absorbed right away, creating sudden, tiny rivers and waterfalls, loosening rocks and making every step a hazard.

The lightening and thunder threatened to frighten the animals, with a crack that echoed across the land making the drovers tense in anticipation of a stampede. It hadn’t happened, not yet, and the beeves seemed to be just as focused on travelling upwards as much as the drovers were.

By the time the first drovers and beeves made it to the top, they began making camp as soon as they could. The wagons were not long to follow, with both humans and animals each seeming to instinctively bunch together in their own groups.

They’d dealt with rain before, though seldom this intense, but the men knew what to do. Favor assisted in the camp set up, breaking every now and then to look back down the path, making sure that beeves were still herding up. He wouldn’t rest easy until the last heads of brahmin and the men riding drag reached the top as well.

Of course, that left out two very important people, and Favor knew he wouldn’t be resting easy at all. For every good decision he made on the drive, it all felt undone the second he allowed for something to go wrong. This rain came on faster than anyone had expected, even Pete, and he had no way of knowing their fate.

\---

Pete and Mushy’s search for a route to higher ground grew more desperate by the minute. Their radhorses’ hooves splashed in muddy water that deepened rapidly as the rain poured, turning the ground into more of a lake than actual ground.

The exact landscape they were in wasn’t at the highest risk of the truly torrential flooding; far away from rivers, open desert to one side and a cliff on the other. Had their path been enclosed, a true canyon, they might already be done for, but as it was, they had time. But Pete knew that dangers like hypothermia and exposure were just as much of a concern, even if they lacked the drama of a killer wave.

With the water beneath them already nearly a foot deep in some places, it was clear there would be nowhere to camp unless they got to higher ground, somewhere where they could make shelter.

“There!” Mushy shouted, straining to make his voice heard above the roar of the storm. “On the cliff, looks like markings!”

Pete squinted through the downpour, and true to Mushy’s word, there appeared to be a simple peace sign painted upon the rocky surface, an indication of some form of shelter. There was a path that reached about halfway up before coming to a plateau. They would have to leave their mounts there; it was a simple climb the rest of the way, but even a simple climb was made treacherous by the rain. They had no other choice but to try, though.

“Good job!” Pete shouted. “Follow me and we’ll get there.”

The slowest part was getting their mounts up the first path, the animals at first hesitant. But they made it to the plateau, which provided only meagre shelter as the radhorses kept close to the cliff side, as far away from the brunt of the rain as they could. Only a large, protruding root offered a place to tie them up; to leave them unsecured ran the risk of them starling over lightening. Pete hated the idea of them running off, possibly injuring themselves in their fleeing.

For rest of the way, it was travel by foot. The rocks were slippery, all the usual dust and dirt turned to a slick mud, making every step a potential rockslide. It took at least twice as long to make the climb as it would have, had there not been this rain. Cold water soaked down past rain slickers, past hats, boots, and jackets, threatening to soak into their very undergarments.

Finally, they reached the opening of the cave, Pete entering first and helping Mushy up. Glancing out from the entrance, they could see where the radhorses were, as well as the soaked and flooded landscape outside.

Inside, it was far from spacious, but it was deep enough for them to avoid the deluge. Although it wouldn’t be able to pick up radio, the Pip-Boy still worked perfectly fine. Brightening the glow, Pete used the light to search their surroundings. It was definitely not a place of regular inhabitance, with only traces of human activity left behind. There was an ash-stained pit, surrounded by a circle of rocks, as evidence of past fires, and little else.

He wanted to explore more, but once it was established as a truly safe location, they had to take care of the most important things first. Namely, staying alive and well.

“Looks all right here. I’ll start up a fire, soon as we’re out of these clothes.”

“Won’t we freeze that way?” Mushy said, shivering.

“We’ll freeze if we keep all these wet things on. Might even catch our death, or ‘least get real sick. Wouldn’t wanna get back to the herd just to catch a cold.” Pete shrugged off his rain jacket, laying it out over the rocks. He did so with any garment too wet to wear, leaving him down to his under shirt and long johns. Mushy followed suit, remaining quiet even as he continued to shiver.

Pete, equally frigid, looked inside his pack, breathing a sigh of relief as he dug in and found that his blanket remained dry. He turned to see Mushy making the same discovery, the waxed canvas of their bags waterproof enough to bestow another little mercy in the face of this storm. They would need all the warmth they could get.

Speaking of which, he knew the next step would be to get that fire going. His kit was the most simple flint starter, the only addition to it being a tin of kindling. In it was dry moss, cotton balls, and a tiny tube of petroleum jelly. With dry brush being so prevalent in the desert, his kit was almost never needed, but this very predicament proved it’s importance.

The branches he and Mushy had gathered early would also prove invaluable. While the flint and kindling could start the fire, they’d need the woody brush to keep it going throughout the night. This also proved another opportunity to show Mushy some more important techniques.

“Here, lemme show you how this fire starter works.” Pete took out the supplies while Mushy watched. He paid close attention to Pete’s actions, listening to the instructions he gave, as well as taking mental note of each step, from coating the cotton balls in the petroleum jelly to their placement under an arrangement of twigs.

Once the fire was steadily burning, they added a few of the larger branches. Pete wondered if Mushy wasn’t better suited for this sort of thing than he was for being a cook’s louse. He seemed to do a better job at remembering what he learnt from Pete than what he learnt from Wish. Part of that, he was sure, was their teaching styles, especially with Wishbone so prone to shouting, but from what little he’d gathered about Mushy’s background, the young man had not done particularly well in school. To this day, he often struggled with reading and writing, something that was considered basic for anyone who grew up in a Vault.

Then again, there was no scouting or wilderness survival training in any Vault, no chance for a kid like Mushy to know if that suited him or not. It certainly seemed to suit him better than anything else, though Pete had to admit to himself, he might just have some wishful thinking of his own on the matter.

“Well, now that’s up and burning, let’s take a look around this cave.” It was small, but even little caves often had clever places to stash goods. “Sometimes rocks have secret hollows. Give ‘em a knock, and you’ll hear if they’re really solid or not.”

The two of them tapped at rocks, an act that would look farcical if one didn’t know better. Pete saw that Mushy was clearly having a hard time with the cold, so he encouraged him to go back to the fire, that he’d already helped plenty.

Just as he was about to give up hope of finding anything useful, Pete found exactly that. Behind the many rocks littering the cave was a metal box, dull and spotted with rust. Upon testing the lid, he found it unlocked, not that it wouldn’t have been easy enough to pick it. Opening it with a tinny creak revealed matches, a tight bundle of dry twigs, a few boxes of food, and a nearly full bottle of whiskey. As tempting at that last item was, he knew it wouldn’t do any good in the long run, and instead focused on the food. He kept the extra branches in mind, not in need of them yet, but it was a good back up, should they run out.

He removed only what he needed, then rifled through his bag once again, examining what items he had, and eventually came up with a stimpak and roll of gauze. He turned to see Mushy watching him intently.

“Gotta leave something behind for the next folks who show up. Sort of an unwritten rule of the Wasteland.” Closing the box, he settled down beside Mushy.

The rain pouring outside, the warm glow of a small fire within the cave, its light dancing off the stone walls: it all reminded Pete of the times he’d been to Utah. Zion, specifically, always as a scout for whichever caravan needed to hire one at the time. Of course, whatever pay he made with the caravans, the real reason he continued to travel there was for the experience of it alone.

The beauty of the place lay in its vast canyons stretching past as far as the eye could see, with stripes of red like a sunset. Rivers running with clear water that reflected the bright blues of the sky, seemingly untouched by radiation. Real, green growing plants that blossomed with white and golden flowers. There was no where else like it, not like he’d ever seen in all his life. Not even the wide open prairies of his childhood, as idyllic as those were in his mind, could quite compare to the wonders of Zion.

He looked at Mushy, who was warming his hands by the fire, appearing quite calm despite their current hardship. There, he supposed, was a man with the exact opposite life he’d had growing up. Where Pete had known these wide open places from the day he was born, Mushy knew underground tunnels and concrete rooms.

The thought of living in a Vault, never seeing real sunlight, never breathing air that hadn’t been treated and filtered twenty times over, never travelling, it felt unquestionably _wrong_ to Pete. Of course, if it was all someone had ever know, that was just what it was to someone, their life. But to Pete, such a life sounded unbearable.

“Mr. Nolan.” Mushy said. “It’s gettin’ pretty cold. Should we build up the fire?”

Pete shook his head. “Sorry, Mushy. This cave’s too small, and we don’t wanna have too much smoke fillin’ up the place. Plus, we gotta conserve our fuel. Gotta keep the fire small.”

Mushy nodded, always readily understanding. He took orders better than anyone else in camp, Pete reckoned. Took scolding better, too. So many of Mushy’s peculiarities made Pete wonder. He wondered if it was something that could be chalked up to whatever strange way of life they had in Vault 21, or if it was just how Mushy was. He would be interested to meet others from Vault 21, see how alike they may or may not be.

Mushy pulled his blanket around himself a little tighter. When Pete saw this, he scooted in closer, close enough to feel Mushy still shivering slightly. Pete wrapped an arm around him, knowing that it was really all he could do to help keep the cold at bay.

“Bet your Vault had heaters.”

“Yeah, sure did. Heaters and air conditioners. Climate control, that’s what it was called. That’s part of why is makes such a good hotel.” At the mention of his home as having been turned into a hotel, Pete saw the slightest drop in Mushy’s expression. He so very rarely spoke of what exactly had happened, and Pete never asked, but he knew it was a familiar story to many across the Wastelands.

Somewhere you could call home, being ripped away. For all the hardships in Pete’s life, that was not one of them. He could go back to that vast and safe prairie land any time. In that remote stretch of land, hardly touched by the bombs and radiation, he could return and find the tiny town he called home, and meet up with his five siblings, his loving parents, and a town that was brimming with pride to have Pete Nolan, the highly decorated Ranger, as one of their own.

That, alone, was something hardly a soul could boast. Certainly no one else on the drive had anything close to what Pete had. Truly, the closest was Mushy, and he had come so dangerously close to losing what roots he did have.

Pondering over all of this left them in silence for a while, the fire gradually warming the little cave and drying their soaked clothing. The steady sound of falling water made for an oddly comforting sound, one that almost sounded like a lullaby. However, it was broken by the cruel sound of thunder and the dangerous flash of lightening.

His mind went to the herd at higher ground. Such a location saved them from flooding, but there was now lightening to worry about. There hadn’t been much tonight, but all it took was one time to turn things into a disaster. No matter where they went, avoiding one danger simply led to another.

This kept either from falling into a deep sleep, even if both men were reaching exhaustion more and more by the moment. Once it was clear that sleep would not be a luxury afforded at the moment, Mushy broke their silence.

“Where’d that symbol come from, anyway? The one on all these stashes and shelters.”

“The peace sign? I’ll be honest, I don’t rightly know. Used to think it must be tribal, but Rowdy says he saw it on pre-war graffiti back in San Francisco. It was all over the place, so I figure it must be older than we know. No matter when it was written, always seems to means something friendly, a kind of sign of good will. Sometimes a sort of protest against violence.” He smiled a little upon recalling an NCR officer yelling until he was blue in the face after someone had painted one on the outside of the armoury. “Figure that’s why we call it the peace sign. ‘Side from that, don’t know much else ‘bout where it came from.”

Another mystery of the past. From there, they allowed the cave to go quiet, save for the rain.

\---

By now, the entire drive had reached the top of the steep canyon walls. It was a tableland that spread out to a fairly vast mesa, so there was little danger of being close to the edge, or facing a washout. The downside, however, was there was virtually no place to take shelter.

While the beeves closed in as close as possible to one another, a tarp had been stretched between the wagons for the drovers to crowd beneath. That, along with the wagons themselves, provided some meagre shelter, but little could be done for warmth besides huddling together. In a place that was usually hotter than hell, for once fire wasn’t even an option.

Jim and Joe were near the outer edge, backs to the rain, with Joe wrapping his arms around Jim’s much smaller form. Joe’s body didn’t offer up much warmth of its own, but the act alone was still comforting.

It was hard to forget, in the Mojave Wastelands, that any day could very well be your last. On the radio, even Mr. New Vegas himself was fond of reminding listeners to love ‘as if there was no tomorrow.’

The couple didn’t need him to remind them to do exactly that. Joe’s ghoulification, the events that preceded it, the life they’d both had to lead once it happened; that was all reminder enough for them. It was thanks to Gil Favor the two were able to get work together. Disaster after disaster left both Jim and Joe discharged from the NCR, and all of it was a million times worse than a flash flood, yet they’d survived it all. Scarred and far from unscathed, but surviving, with one another.

Survival was a topic weighing heavy on Favor’s mind, as well. His own, as well as that of those within his sight wasn’t what worried him. Everyone before him would come out of this storm just fine, maybe a few cols and sniffling in the following days, but nothing a hot bowl of soup and plenty of water couldn’t fix. No, what worried him was the safety of his scout and cook’s louse.

Of everyone on the drive, he trusted Pete most when it came to dire situations. The man hadn’t made it to the highest ranks of Rangers through politics; in fact, Favor reckoned he was one of the few to go purely on his incredible skills. Even taking care of someone else, in this case someone particularly new to Wasteland survival, Pete was the most reliable person anyone could ever hope to know.

All the skills in the world couldn’t fully assuage the tiny worry that crept in. All it took was one moment for things to go wrong, and he hoped with all his heart that nothing had gone wrong for the two missing members of the drive.

Looking over at Wishbone beside the chuck wagon, Favor saw that he, too, was unable to fall asleep. Part of it was the storm, no doubt, but he knew perfectly well that worry over Mushy was indeed another cause.

Even after night fell, darkening the land even more, all the drovers slept lightly, catching at most an hour or so of sleep at a time. Favor didn’t even manage that much, feeling as if he were keeping watch. He was able to catch a short nap, awaking with a start.

He blinked, listening for the sound of rain, hearing only stray water drops falling from the tarp. He jumped up and looked toward the sky, his heart leaping a little as he saw the very beginning of the dawn.

He never thought the sun would come as such an anticipated sight in the Mojave, but there it was, peeking through a tiny parting in the clouds, as welcome as an old friend. The upside to these storms was how they were as brief as they were powerful.

\---

From their cliffside viewpoint, Pete and Mushy could clearly see the herd moving onward along the mesa. While he doubted the rest of the drive could see it, from his vantage point, he was relieved to see a path back down to lower lands. Although he wouldn’t know for sure until reunited with the drive, it looked like they hadn’t even lost a pair of heads of brahmin.

Pete knew that Mr. Favor, as much as his rational mind would no doubt fight it, would be concerned until he and Mushy showed back up. He wished he had a better message system. Hell, if given the option, he would hire the fastest courier, right then and there, just to deliver the news that they were okay. But as it was, only their physical presence would fully assure the boss of their well being.

“Think we’ll catch up, soon?” Mushy asked.

“They’ll be goin’ slow down those hills, what with the mud and loosened ground. I think we’ll catch up in no time. C’mon, let’s head ‘em up, move ‘em out.” And with that, they gathered their radhorses and began their journey back to the drive.

**Author's Note:**

> Brief lore notes for this chapter!  
> Ghouls – Humans who are exposed to intense radiation but survive may become ghouls, a type of zombie-like mutant. Some came to be when the initial bombs fell, although extreme radiation at any point can create them, so not all ghouls are that old. Although many of them are indeed mindless zombies known as ‘feral ghouls’, plenty retain their minds perfectly, and simply look different...as well as being immune to radiation poisoning and essentially immortal unless killed. So, there is that.
> 
> HELIOS One – A solar power plant that powers much of New Vegas, it also has some more hidden...alternate purposes. I also just decided that if anywhere in the Mojave has meteorological measurement tools and personnel with the know-how to use them, it’s this place.
> 
> Bighorners – Mutant bighorn sheep found all over the Mojave. Unlike mutant cattle, these only have one head, but look pretty messed up. Despite their less than pleasant appearance, they’re relatively docile and won’t attack unprovoked. 
> 
> Also, not only did I predictably name this fic after an old song, but I also name dropped like three songs within one page. Oops!


End file.
